Matter of Pride
by Alex Kade
Summary: OW: My usual antics using Four Corners' unsuspecting gambler as bait - though I think he may be starting to catch on... See what happens in a fight between him and a certain irritable gunslinger...


**A/N: **Writing that first M7 fic was like opening a floodgate! They just keep coming! Lol, here's another one-shot where, yet again, I do some damage to my poor boy. He's going to hate me, I fear... I've included my usual mix of action, pain, angst, and a touch of humor. Enjoy! :)

* * *

"Uh oh, this don't look good," Buck grins, slapping JD on the arm and pointing down the street. The young sheriff looks up to see their resident cardsharp storming towards the jail, covered head to toe in mud and his movements a little stiff.

"What happened to him?" the kid asks, his own smile growing.

"I don't know, but I sure ain't missin' it. Let's go, kid."

They race off in pursuit of the fuming Southerner, meeting up with Vin, Nathan, and Josiah on the way.

"Comin' to watch the show, too?" Buck asks as they hear a stream of curses begin to pour from within the jail.

Nathan opens his mouth to answer but is cut off as Standish is nearly thrown from the building, just barely managing to keep on his feet as Larabee stalks out behind him, wiping now-muddied hands on his pantlegs. His shirt and one side of his face are also spotted with patches of mud.

Ezra quickly regains his balance, spinning back to face the gunslinger. "That, sir, was completely uncalled for. Of course, I should have known better than to assume you could settle matters in a civilized fashion. No - Mr. Larabee only resorts to barbaric means to solve a dilemma. God forbid he should ever have to use his rather unpracticed mind."

"You're the one who started hurlin' mud around like a damn child," Larabee growls. "Imagine Maude'd be proud knowing her son still threw tantrums."

Ezra snaps his jaw shut, gritting his teeth together. All of his muscles coil up like a spring.

"Here it comes," Vin whispers from the sidelines.

A second later, the gambler launches himself at Larabee – not in a full out tackle, but rather in a calculated move that places him within striking distance of the lawmen's leader. His fists fly out with uncanny speed, the first few missing their target as the gunslinger dodges and parries, but the last few driving home when Chris finds himself backed up against the building.

"He's pulling his punches," Josiah points out to his fellow bystanders.

"How can you tell?" JD asks.

Nathan answers for the preacher. "He's not throwin' his body weight into 'em like he normally does."

Larabee manages to find an escape in the cardsharp's rapid assault, slipping around the smaller man and thus leading the fight away from the building. Anger flashes in his eyes as he attempts to wipe the new layer of mud from his face, the grime mingling with the blood oozing from a small split in his lip.

"You through?" he hisses at the conman, who is maintaining his fighting stance several feet back.

"Will you admit fault?" the Southerner bites back.

"Over my dead body," Chris answers, practically spitting out the words.

"That can be arranged," Ezra tells him, his voice deadly calm.

This time the man in black takes the first action, flying at the smaller man with full speed. His strategy _is_ to go for the tackle, knocking Standish flat on the ground where his fists can no longer pose a threat. They both go down with a resounding _oof! _before the battle shifts into a wrestling match. Where this is normally Chris's strong suit, he appears to be struggling with keeping the wryly gambler pinned in place.

"It's the mud," Buck laughs. "Little snake's usin' it to his advantage."

"Figures he'd find a way to cheat in a grappling match," Nathan shakes his head, but his subtle smile counters the harsh words of his statement.

Chris manages to finally get a grasp on the Southerner's leg, twisting him around and sitting on his back. He pulls the leg up, dodging a kick from Ezra's other, and wraps his hand around the apprehended foot.

"He's gonna break his ankle!" JD gasps.

"Nah, he won't hurt 'im…much," Buck grins.

"Had enough?" Larabee snarls.

"Not until you apologize," Standish grunts, suddenly pushing up with his hands and free leg while at the same time flipping around to knock Chris off his back. Both men scramble in the mud for a few seconds before they manage to find their feet again. With renewed anger, they exchange a few more blows – Ezra getting a few good hits to Larabee's ribs and Chris slamming his fist into the Southerner's stomach a few times.

"Are they still pulling punches?" JD tentatively asks.

Vin nods. "Not as much, but yeah. Gonna have a few good bruises, though."

Standish swings out to throw another hard left to Larabee's face, but his foot slips slightly in the mud-slicked ground, throwing him off balance. Chris takes his chance and grabs the offending hand, pulling it down and around behind the conman's back. He torques the arm up ever so slightly, causing the gambler to freeze any other movements.

Nathan sucks in a breath and watches intently. No one else says anything.

"Enough, Ezra," Chris whispers.

"You didn't warn me what to look out for!" Ezra snaps, tears glistening in his eyes.

"I told you to be careful!" Chris nearly yells.

"As an aside thought, a habit formed from repetition! You didn't even mean it!" Ezra yells back. "You sent me up there on purpose, without any knowledge of the warning signs! I could have avoided it if I'd been prepared!"

"I didn't know there'd be a slide," Larabee says quietly.

"But you knew there was a risk! You purposely put me in danger all because I dared hurt your precious pride." He bends forward slightly, laughing before he continues speaking. "All this time, I've been worrying over the fact that none of you feel you can trust me, when really I should have been watching my back against _you. _You are a sorry excuse for a leader, Mr. Larabee. You _deserve_ to be alone."

"Oh shit," Buck curses, stepping forward to intervene.

Before he can even get close, Larabee yells out in rage, pulling Ezra's arm tighter up across his back. Standish clenches his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. He appears as if he's going to go down when suddenly he lets out his own enraged roar. To everyone's surprise, he yanks himself forward with all the energy he has left, the audible pop of his shoulder tearing itself out of socket almost echoing in the town's silence. With his continuing momentum, he swings his body around, throwing his right arm wide and slamming his fist, full-force, into Chris's shocked face. Both men go down in a heap, Standish quickly recovering his feet as he holds his arm tightly against his body. The gunslinger remains unconscious on the ground, blood pouring from his nose and lips. Ezra turns and walks away from the prone figure in a daze, his eyes glassed over as Nathan rushes up to him. Buck and Vin move to the side of their fallen friend while Josiah merely wraps a comforting arm around JD's shoulders. The kid just stands there, wide-eyed in shock at the sudden brutality of the fight.

"Ezra, let me see your arm," Nathan says gently.

The words snap the conman out of his stunned thoughts. He locks eyes with the healer, shaking his head slowly. "Tend to Mr. Larabee, first, if you would."

"Don't be stubborn now. Gimme your arm."

He hugs his damaged limb closer to his body, taking a step back. "Please, Mr. Jackson. I hit him," he swallows, looking down at the split knuckles on his right hand, "I hit him much too hard."

Seeing the inarguable set to the Southerner's eyes, Nathan sighs and turns his attentions to the man still on the ground. After a few seconds, Ezra wanders over towards Josiah and JD. Without looking at them, he pauses beside the preacher.

"Mr. Sanchez, Mr. Dunne?" he says quietly, hesitantly.

"What do you need, son?" Josiah inquires gently, seeing the gambler relax slightly at not being admonished for his actions.

"Would you be so kind as to," his voice breaks, "as to go in search of Chaucer's body along the river? I managed to stop my descent at the shore, but he, he…"

Sadness fills Josiah's eyes as he watches the normally unshakable man struggle to reign in his emotions. He places a soothing hand on Ezra's good shoulder.

"We'll find him," he promises.

"Yeah, Ez, we'll get 'im home," JD adds.

"Thank you," Ezra chokes out quickly before rushing away.

After a few seconds of tense silence, JD asks, "You think Chris really meant for Ezra to get hurt?"

Josiah sighs. "No, JD, I don't."

"So it wasn't really Chris's fault?"

"Didn't say that either." The preacher catches the confusion on the kid's face. "I think our black sheep may have pushed Chris a little too far yesterday. It's a cold, wet morning to be sent out on a ride along the river, sure to make any man miserable, Ezra more than most; but I don't doubt for a second that Chris intended any real harm to come to him."

"Yeah, but why _that _trail? With all the rain we've been gettin'…"

""Cause everyone knows that's the one Ez hates the most – doesn't like the mist coming up from the canyon. Chris was only thinking about that, not about the potential hazards. It was just a matter of tempers clouding judgment and an unfortunate act of nature, that's all."

"…Do ya think everything'll be all right? I mean with Chris and Ezra?"

Josiah wipes a hand down his face as he watches Nathan doing his best to staunch the flow of blood from their leader's nose and lips. "I don't know, son. They both took pretty hard blows today, and I'm not referring to their bodies."

JD nods slowly, then pulls away from the preacher's comforting hold. "Come on, Josiah, let's tell 'em what happened. We're gonna need help findin' Chaucer."

"Right you are, son," Josiah smiles sadly.

They pull Buck and Vin aside, explaining the situation. With a nod, they hurriedly help Nathan get Chris up to the clinic before setting out to keep their promise to their grief-stricken friend.

_7777777_

"You find 'im, yet?" Chris mumbles out through his puffy, cracked lips as Nathan steps back into the clinic. The healer shakes his head, taking another long look at the black-clad man's swollen nose and eyes, only the right one able to open just a slit. Larabee curses and struggles to get up, but Nathan easily shoves him back down.

"Where do you think you're goin'?" he asks angrily.

"Gotta find 'im," Chris answers, but makes no further attempts to escape.

"You ain't goin' anywhere, not with that concussion. He wasn't kiddin' when he said he hit ya too hard."

"I deserved it…"

"I know you don't really believe that, and he doesn't, either, or else he wouldn'ta been pulling his punches to begin with. He's just upset right now. He'll turn up."

"It's been hours, Nate. His shoulder…"

Nathan nods with a sigh. "I know, but there's nothin' I can do about it 'til he decides to come out of whatever hole he's hid himself in. All we can do is wait."

"…Any news on Chaucer?"

"Not yet. They won't come back without him."

"Good," Chris says, allowing his one eye to slide shut again as he falls into a fitful sleep.

_7777777_

Ezra lay on the roof of the livery, barely moving, barely breathing, his mud-covered face nearly washed clean from the tears that had long since dried up. He stares up at the darkening sky, his right arm draped behind his head and his injured left arm laying, ignored, by his side. His name is being called out somewhere down below, but he doesn't even turn in the direction of the sound. What does catch his attention, though, is the familiar whinny of a horse.

He sits bolt upright, hissing at the renewed pain in his shoulder, but quickly shakes it away. Peering over the roof's edge, he spots his friends riding back into town towing a limping, dirty, wet, but very much alive Chaucer beside them. Loosing a breathy, ecstatic laugh, Standish clumsily makes his way off the building, half jumping, half falling when he gets about half way down. He hits the ground hard, but quickly regains his feet and sprints giddily towards his horse. Reaching his four-legged friend, he lets his tears flow freely again as he slings one arm around the horse's neck, thanking God for sparing the one thing that matters most to him in the world. His friends sit by quietly, smiles on their faces as they allow the normally private man his full display of pure relief. After a few minutes, Vin gracefully slides off his mount and gently touches Ezra's arm, pulling the man's attention away from his reverie.

"We gotta get 'im to the livery, Ez. He's got some cuts that need tendin' and he'll need that leg wrapped."

"Of course, of course," Standish nods, wiping away his tears. He looks at each one of his friends. "I don't have the words to properly-"

"We don't need your thanks," Josiah grins.

"Yeah, we know how important Chaucer is to ya," JD says, also smiling.

Buck eyes the gambler closely. "Tell ya what ya can do, pard." He pauses as Ezra looks at him expectantly. "Git your butt up to Nate's. Ya look like you're about to keel over."

"I will, Mr. Wilmington, but I'd rather like to oversee Chaucer's administrations first," he answers with a worried glance at his animal companion.

"Fine," Buck says with a grin, "but if Nathan comes gunnin' for me 'cause of your stupidity, I'm takin' it out on _you._"

"Acceptable terms, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra smiles back.

They make it six steps towards the livery before Standish bonelessly crumbles to the ground.

_7777777_

"Ezra."

His eyes flutter several times before they go still again.

"Come on, Ezra, wake up."

With a struggle, this time the eyes peel themselves apart and waver for a few seconds before they focus on the bruised face of the man calling to him.

"Ah hell," Ezra rasps out, flinching away. "Mr. Larabee, if you intend to kill me, please be so kind as to make it quick and painless."

"I'm not gonna kill ya, Ez," Chris says, a slight smile reaching the corners of his lips as he helps Ezra drink a glass of water. "You almost did that, yourself."

"No need for exaggeration. A dislocated shoulder is hardly a means to an end," Standish counters, rolling his eyes.

"Damn idiot, you didn't even know, did you?" Larabee asks, watching the confusion play across the Southerner's face.

"Know what?"

Chris looks away, running a hand through his hair. "When you fell… Musta gotten yourself caught up on the wrong end of a stick. You had a pretty good-sized hole in your side…almost bled to death."

Ezra's face noticeably pales. "I didn't even feel it…"

"Yeah, Nathan says shock'll sometimes do that. Said the only reason you lasted this long was because the mud helped clot the blood flow; but it also nearly killed you – we couldn't see you were bleeding 'til we cleaned you up some… Me hittin' you didn't help any, either…" He turns further away and his voice drops to a near-whisper. "Godammit, Ez, if you had died, I could never forgive-"

"No need for that, Mr. Larabee," Ezra says, his voice also low. "I purposely and needlessly provoked your actions."

"No excuse," Chris snaps at himself. "It's my job to look out for all of you, and I put you in danger. We came too damn close to losing you 'cause I let my temper get the better of me."

After a few thoughtful moments, Ezra breaks the silence with a quiet, but firm, "Just don't ever let it happen again."

Chris looks at him, startled. Seeing the sly grin spread across the gambler's face, he lets his own split lips stretch into a knowing smile. He imitates the same subtle nod Standish had answered _him_ with so long ago in the Seminole village. The smile wanes a little as he notices a sudden twinkle gleaming in the conman's eyes.

"…Though, if your guilty conscious is not yet satisfied, with my current infirmity I will be unable to tend to Chaucer's needs…"

"I'll take care of 'im."

"He'll need to be rubbed down twice a day."

"Already been doing that."

"And his leg tended to and exercised properly."

"I know how to take care of an injured horse, Ezra."

"With his confinement to his stall, his attitude may deteriorate. He'll need some extra…incentive…to keep his spirits up."

"I'm not buying candy for your damn spoiled pet."

"Chaucer is a fine specimen of an equine, Mr. Larabee, hardly a pet. He merely demands proper recompense for his tribulations."

"No."

"…My mind seems to be a little clouded from the blood loss. I can't seem to recall Chaucer's command for 'Let go.'"

"Ezra."

"He's been known to latch onto the arm of ne'er-do-wells to my person with the intensity of a fighting canine. I would hate to see you lose a sizable chunk of flesh to his strong teeth."

"Ezra!"

_Outside the clinic door:_

"Sounds like things are back to normal," Nathan laughs.

"Yup," Buck grins. "Come on, JD, let's go get in a game of poker before Ez gets a chance to clean us out."

"Race ya to the saloon!" JD shouts, taking off down the stairs, Buck hot on his heels.

Vin taps Josiah on the shoulder. "You still owe me a dollar for Ezra winnin'."

A southern-accented shout rings out from inside the clinic. "Any money gained from wagers placed on my actions will be dutifully shared!"

Vin grabs the dollar from the preacher's hand and takes off after Buck and JD.

Josiah lets out a hearty laugh. "Yep, good to have everything back in order."

_**The End!**_


End file.
